


Þrymskviða

by Bagheera



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Crossdressing, Fairy Tale Retellings, Giants, M/M, PWP, Pre-Canon, Rough Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-06 18:07:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1109951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagheera/pseuds/Bagheera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A re-telling of the old Norse Lay of Thrym.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Þrymskviða

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2011 on the Thor kinkmeme.

The Warriors Three and Sif were renowned for their courage, but not even they were suicidal enough to approach Thor when the god of thunder was throwing a tantrum. Without lightning, this time, because he didn't have his hammer, but no less impressive than usual. 

Calming Thor down, all four of them felt, was Loki's task. Loki knew no fear where Thor was concerned - if it was brotherly trust or sheer recklessness, no one quite wanted to say. 

As they watched from a safe distance, they saw him touch Thor's shoulder, have his hand shaken off, and calmly place it there again. Then he whispered something in Thor's ear, the thunder god's head bent with a grim expression. Finally, Thor looked up in surprise. "Disguise someone as Freya?" he huffed, loud enough for them to hear. Then his gaze slowly wandered towards Sif. 

Sif crossed her arms and glared. 

"No," Thor said with a heavy sigh. "I could not ask this of any lady of Asgard, brother."

Loki smiled. His smiles had grown rarer, subtler as he grew older, but the Warrior's Three still remembered that they meant trouble. Always. 

"Not a lady of Asgard," Loki said, "but I could certainly fool a Jotun, could I not?" 

"He could, too," Fandral muttered, clearly imagining it in great detail. "Probably better than Sif."

She turned her glare on him. "What?" Fandral shrugged. "Come on, no one's going to mistake you for a goddess of love, lovely though you are in armor."

Thor stared at his brother, then shook his head vehemently. "No! No, I can't ask this of a son of Odin," he said. "It would not be honorable."

"My honor is yours," Loki said with a nod that was almost a bow, "as I'm sure yours is mine. But if you won't take it, then there's only one option..."

*

Loki could have turned himself into a woman, or cast a glamour on himself. His shapeshifting and magic were certainly up to the task. But he had enjoyed choosing a bridal dress for Thor so much that he couldn't pass up the opportunity at having another go at Frigga's closet. 

"This!" he said, whipping out a dark green, low-cut dress that must have fit his mother when she had been a slender young girl. Thor merely grumbled, staring down at his large, rough hands in his lap of white silk. 

"Your beard," Loki admonished. "You still haven't shaved. Thrym may be a Jotun, but I doubt even I could convince him to accept a bearded Freya in exchange for your hammer."

"We could just go and take it back. None of this trickery!"

"And break the peace? No, trust me, Father will approve of my way of solving this problem."

Thor grimaced slightly, but he had to admit that Odin probably would approve of Loki's plan. He always preferred cunning over violence, so much so that Thor sometimes expected that no matter how much he proved himself a hero, Loki would still inherit the throne of Asgard. It didn't make him jealous, precisely, but he still wished that just once, he could prove to his father that he could be every bit as smart as Loki. 

He watched out of the corner of his eye as Loki took off his clothes and slipped into the green dress. He took his time, clearly enjoying the slide of velvet over his thighs - thighs that could have passed as a woman's shapely legs even without the long, concealing dress. Thor turned away, and busied himself with shaving. He was not a dwarf, after all, he could part with his beard if he must. 

"Thor," Loki said after a while, and his voice made Thor jump, nearly nicking his throat with the blade. It was soft and melodious, not unlike the way Loki usually spoke, but just a little bit higher. Not a woman's voice - but the voice of a man pretending to be a woman. "I could use your help with the laces."

A glance at Loki made Thor flush. He had combed out his hair, letting it fall looser and softer than usual, and was gazing into a mirror to paint his face like a lady of the court. Only the laces at the back of his dress were still undone, dangling freely over Loki’s slim back. 

Thor approached him awkwardly, not sure where to look - his brother's smooth, half-painted face in the mirror, his slender waist or his bare white shoulders. He was even less sure where to touch. 

"Very good," Loki said. "Girlish modesty, Thrym will like that."

Thor flushed even harder, and nearly tore the laces in his hurry to get it over with. 

*

Thrym did not look very convinced. His bulging eyes kept straying from the heavily veiled figure of his would-be bride to her bare-faced, pretty maid. Thor wasn't exactly helping, as he was tucking into the feast as if he was having an eating contest with Volstagg the Voluminous. 

"The Lady Freya has a healthy appetite," Thrym observed. "But her maid eats scarcely a morsel."

"Aha, yes," Loki said, and smiled sweetly at Thrym. "The Lady Freya can hardly contain her desire for you. It's making her very hungry."

Thor turned to stare at Loki, outrage barely just discernable beneath the veil. Loki knew he ought to stop. But an opportunity like this wouldn't come again. 

"She would not stop for rest once we left Asgard," he continued. 

"In a hurry to get to us, eh?" A giant to Thrym's left asked with a rough laugh. 

"Yes indeed," Loki said. "Which is why she is eating so quickly, too. She cannot await her wedding night."

A very heavy foot came down on his under the table. Loki put his hand on Thor's knee, digging his fingers into the silk to keep him still. And Thor did keep still - he froze completely at the touch. 

"Why is she so eager?" Thrym asked suspiciously. 

Loki glanced at Thor, then at Thrym. "The Lady Freya is a Goddess of Love," he said very seriously. "Surely you understand what that means."

Wild laughter broke out along the table with much nudging and winking in Thor's direction. One particularly drunk Jotun tried to grope Freya's breasts beneath her bridal veil - whatever it was his hands really found made him howl with new laughter. Loki could feel a trembling of rage build up beneath his hand like a distant thunderstorm. Perhaps he had gone too far. He gave Thor's thigh a few soothing strokes. 

"And you, little handmaiden?" One of Thrym's brothers asked with a leer. 

Fair is fair, if Thor can tolerate a joke, so must I, Loki thought, although there was something about the Jotun that repulsed him deep down, some primal feeling he could not name. "I would be honored to be in Freya's place," he said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. 

He did not expect the giant who had groped Thor to try the same on him - only with much more gusto, as Loki wasn't the promised bride of his master. He found himself be pulled into the giant's cold lap. But if Thor had played along this far, then Loki would not be the one to give them away. He laughed as if he couldn't enjoy himself any better. 

With a roar of rage, Thor rose from his seat. 

What followed was a bloodbath of epic proportions. Loki watched in amazement as his brother tore up the bridal dress, revealing his flat, muscled chest, and then did the same to Thrym's hall, thrashing chairs, breaking bones, shattering skulls against the stone floor, wading in blood that steamed in the icy breeze before it froze. He found his hammer before long, but barely stopped, just went on laying waste to everything within his reach. 

When he was done, only the table still stood, and only Loki still breathed. He had evaded Thor’s strikes so well that there was scarcely a splatter of blood on his dress. Thor on the other hand only wore a few white silk rags drenched in giant blood and his hammer. 

"You think that was funny?" Thor asked, breathing heavily. 

Loki took a step towards Thor rather than away. "A bit."

"You called me a whore! No, you called Freya a whore!" Thor clearly wasn't able to decide which was worse. 

"They call me silver-tongue for a reason," Loki said calmly. "Now if only you could have kept your temper in check for a little longer..."

"My temper?" Thor rumbled. "I'd show you my temper if you weren't my brother."

Ordinarily, Loki would have left it at that, having provoked Thor enough for one day. But he found that wearing a dress in a house full of dead giants had a strangely freeing effect on him. The rules and morals of Asgard seemed very far away all of a sudden. Or maybe it was a maddening effect, although the itch of madness Loki felt tickling his brain could well be related to Thor being mostly undressed, covered in blood and clearly aroused. 

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. 

Loki smoothed his dress in a deliberately dainty gesture. "Would you show your temper to Freya's handmaid, if she spoke so brazenly of your appetites?"

Thor stared at him. Probably he didn’t understand. Loki backed up against the table and perched on the edge with a smile that was only for Thor. 

"You're still wearing that dress," Thor growled, coming closer. 

Loki licked his painted lips. "If it disturbs you, I can take it off."

Thor stopped, close enough that their knees touched. Loki put one foot on the table, slid out of his slipper and made as if to pull up his skirts. Thor stopped him with a heavy, calloused hand on his ankle. "I may need your help dressing a woman, but I don't need your help undressing one, brother."

This was unexpected. Loki's breath caught as Thor's heavy hand slid up his calf, then his thigh, until it stopped on his hip, pulling him a little closer to Thor. It was supposed to be no more than a game, Thor never reacted to his provocations this readily unless he was very, very drunk. Then, sometimes, Thor would lie with him, fumbling in the dark, scolding him that a son of Odin should not be such a tease, and Loki was always considerate enough to leave their bed in the small hours of the morning, before Thor could wake and face him in daylight. 

But that didn’t mean that Loki hadn’t sometimes wanted to lie with him until Thor woke, or to come to him when he was perfectly sober, and see what would happen. If what it took was a minor massacre, then Loki wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

Thor used his free hand, the hammer abandoned, to rip open the bodice of the dress, baring Loki's flat chest beneath the velvet. His grin was half leer, half condescension. "You look nothing like a woman."

"What do I look like, then?"

"Infuriating," Thor mumbled against his ear, steadily pressing him down on the table. Loki went easily, eagerly, closing his eyes, imagining for a moment that this was still a wedding, the bloodied table his bridal bed. They could both have the throne of Asgard this way. If only. 

"You look like my brother dressed as a whore," Thor went on, and Loki opened his eyes again. Thor was drunk after all, on blood and victory if not on ale. His hands on Loki were as rough against the underside of Loki’s knees as if he were still wielding his hammer as he pushed his legs up.

"You, on the other hand, look very manly," Loki assured him, then gasped out loud as Thor, too single-minded to think this through, tried to fuck him dry and nearly succeeded with an insistent thrust against his opening. Thor grunted, frustrated, pulled back for another thrust, and Loki frantically considered his options. Turn into a woman properly? Let Thor take him like this and see if the pain was as exquisite as it promised to be? At the last moment he whispered a word and worked his magic, coating Thor's manhood in slippery oil.

Thor groaned in relief as he slid in, and Loki hissed a barely audible, "Yes."

The fucking was as fast as the fight had been. Thor was only thinking of his own release, making no move to touch Loki, who could have taken care of it himself, but he preferred to use his hands to tug at Thor’s hair and scratch at his shoulders, goading him along. He was thinking further ahead, to the days to come - he wanted it to count, to feel Thor in him even when the paint was washed from his face and the dress long burned. He bucked up against every thrust, panting and straining until Thor grabbed his hips with both hands and held him in place for the last few thrusts, hitting deep every time before he stilled with a broken groan. Buried to the hilt, his weight bearing down on Loki, he spilled his seed. 

After a moment, Thor rolled over onto his back, giving Loki space to breathe. He looked extremely satisfied as he reached for his hammer like a child for his favorite toy. 

Loki willed his thighs to stop trembling and sat up on his elbows. His cock still lay half-hard and heavy against his belly, and the muscles that had been stretched around Thor a moment ago now twitched with a painful emptiness. He felt gloriously filthy, unsteady with lust. Gingerly, he slid off the table and back onto his feet, slipping out of the tatters of the dress as he did so. Naked, he was fully a man again, Loki, prince of Asgard, not Loki the shameless seducer. He took a few cautious steps, the slick smear of come against the inside of his thighs reminding him how very thin the line between one self and the other was. But they had to return, and tell a tale of trickery and violence. Only a tale, not this raw little truth inside him. He smoothed back his sweaty hair.

"Fire, I think," Loki said after a moment of consideration. "We shall burn the whole place down."


End file.
